OK ... so, now that there's 100+ pounds of muley venison in the freezer, and the bleedin' has stopped ... (the bandage on my finger makes typin' difficult ... pardon any typos, please)
My Bride din't feel too good on Sat. a.m. so I drove out alone (in my "NEW" car, since the Bronco is still on the fritz) ...
Normal routine on this sort of plan is to drive to a specific road that leads to my usual huntin' grounds (which includes large tracts of public land, and adjacent areas owned by the Three Bobs who ranch out there) and to arrive there by first shootin' light ...
Got started an hour late, and in all the chaos of chasin' around in a borrowed pickup last weekend, plus havin' unloaded the Bronco while it's @ the shop, I din't have any tarps or bungee cords along (had 10 items of ordnance, but that's typical for me), so I stopped @ Waldo's and it wuz legal light while I wuz still 40 minutes away from my unit ...
Not a crisis ... merely a disappointment ... so ... cruisin' down the road, and see two does in the ditch havin' breakfast ... worng side of US 85, worng unit ... a few miles later, there's a small 3x3 on the same (worng) side, but he's walkin' west ... so, I get into the cutbank area in about a half-mile, and I pull over and stop ... figger it's time to stick my licenses to my certificate and validate (sign) 'em ... he crosses the road behind me, I take a quick look thru the rifle 'scope (binocs and rangefinder still in the case), OK ... he's adequate ...
HOWEVER, he bounces across the fence, and it's posted there ... I'm still gettin' all the harness on and such, and two pickups pull up ... locals, they're gonna go look for him ... BUT ... the guy knows of a fork-horn lyin' down near ( ... "about 20 feet!" he sez) the road, and he'll show me where when they get back ...
No luck, they never saw the 3x3, and he sez "follow me" ... I do ...
Now, the car ('87 Cavalier Station Wagon, runs great, but NOT designed for some of the prairie trails in any state) can prolly handle this section line, and I proceed, slowly ... knockin' the frost off the grass (also, they'd had nearly an inch of new snow overnite, we din't have any, back home), and THERE HE IS!!!
I can't figger out why he's not movin' out by now ... but (now that I'm "ready" with weapons in close reach) I stop, and take a look ... OK, I'll be satisfied with him, if it's a clean shot (at 52 yards, NOT "20 feet") even I should be able to manage some degree of accuracy ...
Nope, NOT gonna shoot out the window of the car ... not proper etiquette, besides bein' illegal ... so, I get out ... and he does NOT MOVE! Merely keeps watchin' me ... couple of steps, and bring up the rifle ... BLAM! ... he STILL does not move!
Turns out I shot sorta low on the first one, crippled him ... tinked the front of BOTH back feet, just in front of the dewclaws (HEY, he wuz lyin' down, so his back toes were right under the heart!) ... now, he stands up, and it's a broadside shot ...
OK ... drive back to the road (no gate in the fence) and check AGAIN for posting signs (none) and drive up thru the bumpy CRP ... dressin' him out, and I happen to look up, and there's a rancher haulin' bales stopped on the trail, and gettin' out of his tonner ...
Uh-oh ... did I miss some important info?
"Well you got one!" he shouts, with a big grin on his face. (Whew!)
Chat a few minutes, and somehow he learns I've still got a doe tag ...
"Well, when you finish, come down to the ranch ... there's a bunch of 'em south of the yard, and I'll show you how to get close ... " he adds that they "fed" about 200 Muleys on the east side of the road -- the deer muched their alfalfa all winter -- and about 200 whitetails on the west side of the road ... so I should kill a bunch ...
OK ... so, I do ... we stop and glass 'em, about 3/4 mile away ... all in "resting" mode ... he sez, " ... follow me, and I'll show you the gate and the best
<message edited by O the Umanity on Sunday, November 15, 2009 10:04 PM>